Sacajawea

By Joseph Bruchac

A novel of the Shoshone woman’s epic journey with Lewis and Clark from an American Book Award winner: “A grand adventure . . . not to be missed.” —Kirkus Reviews
                  
Captured by her enemies, married to a foreigner, and a mother at age sixteen, Sacajawea lived a life of turmoil and change. Then in 1804, the mysterious young Shoshone woman known as Bird Woman met Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. Acting as interpreter, peacemaker, and guide, Sacajawea bravely embarked on an epic journey that altered history forever. 
 
In this novel her extraordinary story is told in alternating chapters by both Sacajawea and by William Clark, including parts of Clark’s original diaries. From a winner of the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Native Writers Circle of The Americas, it also includes a map showing Lewis and Clark’s trail. 
 
“Bruchac’s fascinating story of the life of the woman who was pivotal to the success of the Lewis and Clark expedition is an outstanding example of historical fiction told from multiple perspectives.” —School Library Journal
 
“The author adheres closely to journals kept by members of the expedition, creating characters who are both lifelike and compelling.” —Publishers Weekly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 1, 2008
• ISBN: 9780547351063

Joseph Bruchac

Joseph Bruchac is the author of Skeleton Man, The Return of Skeleton Man, Bearwalker, The Dark Pond, and Whisper in the Dark, as well as numerous other critically acclaimed novels, poems, and stories, many drawing on his Abenaki heritage. Mr. Bruchac and his wife, Carol, live in upstate New York, in the same house where he was raised by his grandparents. You can visit him online at www.josephbruchac.com.

Book preview

The Voyage of Lewis and Clark

[Image]

Copyright © 2000 by Joseph Bruchac

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

www.hmhco.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Bruchac, Joseph, 1942–

Sacajawea; the story of Bird Woman and the Lewis and Clark Expedition/Joseph Bruchac.

p. cm.

Summary: Sacajawea, a Shoshoni Indian interpreter, peacemaker, and guide, and William Clark alternate in describing their experiences on the Lewis and Clark Expedition to the Northwest.

1. Sacajawea, 1786–1884—Juvenile fiction. 2. Clark, William, 1770–1838—Juvenile fiction. 3. Lewis and Clark Expedition (1804–1806)—Juvenile fiction.

[1. Sacajawea, 1786–1884—Fiction. 2. Clark, William, 1770–1838—Fiction. 3. Shoshoni Indians—Fiction. 4. Indians of North America—Fiction. 5. Lewis and Clark Expedition (1804–1806)—Fiction. I. Title.

PZ7.B82816Sac 2000

[Fic]—dc21 99-47653

ISBN 978-0-15-202234-1

ISBN 978-0-15-206455-6 pb

eISBN 978-0-547-35106-3

v3.0915

In memory of my mother, Marion Bowman Bruchac, whose feet now walk the Road of Stars

Prologue

JEAN BAPTISTE CHARBONNEAU

GREEN RIVER TRADERS’ RENDEZVOUS, 1833

My friends, as we gather around this fire, let me tell you a story. It is the story of how the worlds of the white men and the Indians came together. There is no one better to tell the story than I, Jean Baptiste, for I am of both worlds. I was there on that great journey. Now I am a man who has seen twenty-eight winters, but then I was a child.

It is a story of hard travels and many wonders, a story of bravery and kind deeds, of treachery and great danger, of strange men and even stranger places, of high mountains and rivers. It is a story of suffering and triumph.

I have been far since then. I have been to the schools of the white men, I have traveled to Europe, and I have made friends with kings and princes, guiding them to hunt the buffalo on the plains. I have ridden, too, by the side of war chiefs and shared the lodges of many Indian nations. Yet no kings or princes, no warriors or chiefs were ever better men than those who took me on that journey with them. Of all those who were part of that great adventure, there is one who was the bravest and best of them all. A greathearted woman. Though she was little more than a child when it all began, she was the finest person I ever knew. That woman was my mother, Sacajawea.

But I cannot tell the whole of the story, for I was only a baby during those years. It is the custom of my mother’s people, the Shoshones, that one can tell only what they have seen. When the Shoshones come to something they do not know, one who was there must tell the tale.

Those two voices who told that tale to me, my mother’s and my uncle’s, will now tell it to you. It is the shared telling of this story that is the beginning of my life. Now, brought back to life and breath are those voices, as I remember them in my heart. Here is my mother, Sacajawea. Here is my adopted uncle, Captain William Clark.

Listen. Here is our story.

1

Sacajawea:

The Camp by the River

Long ago, there was a great flood. It covered all of the earth, except for the top of the tallest mountain. All of the people were drowned beneath the waters. The Great Mystery sat on top of that mountain and decided to make things all over again. He called to the birds, who had survived by flying up into the air, to help him.

Dive down beneath the water and bring up some dirt.

So the birds began to try to do as the Great Mystery asked. The one who succeeded in bringing up some dirt was Chickadee. From that dirt, a new earth was made, and placed on the back of the big turtle. Then, from that dirt, new people were made.

ST. LOUIS, LOUISIANA TERRITORY, 1811

FIRSTBORN SON, how has your day been? I remember what it was like when I was a child of seven winters such as you. Everything around me was exciting, though our lives were much simpler in our mountains than here in this great city of St. Louis. I still find this place confusing. I am glad that we have your good uncle Captain Clark to watch over us while you and your father, Charbonneau, and I are here as guests in his great house.

But now that your busy day is over, perhaps you would like to hear a story? What story shall I tell? Ah, that story, the one I told you I would share with you only once we were here in the house of your red-haired uncle, so that he could help me tell it. It is a story too big for just one person to tell, this story of our long journey.

All right, then, I will begin in the place where I began, there near the three rivers, at the foot of the great mountains that divide the sky.

[Image]

We were poor people. That is how it was then, my son. We were not as poor as our cousins who lived farther downriver and toward the direction of the sunset. They were so poor that they had no horses at all. All of the other tribes called them Walkers. At least we had horses.

We were poor because we had no guns, as did the Atsina and Siksika. As did the other nations who lived close to the French and English and American traders. Those other nations, especially the Pahkees, the Blackfeet, they drove us off the plains and up into the mountains with their guns.

But poor as we were, we still had horses. We cared for our horses well. Our horses were like members of our families. With horses our young men could go back down the mountains and slip out onto the plains to hunt the buffalo. They always had to be on the lookout for enemies, but our horses were swift and our scouts were alert. On the plains you can see enemies coming from far away and escape. It is harder to see far away when you are in the mountains. So we discovered that day.

[Image]

The day started off as a good day. Our village was camped at the place where the three rivers join. The sun shone on the water as it rippled and flowed.

I remember finding a little stick that was the shape of a canoe. I dropped it into the main river and watched as it floated away.

River, I said, where are you going in such a hurry? What would it be like to float along with you?

I did not know how soon I would find out.

It was the Moon When the Berries Are Ripe. That is why my best friend and I were away from the camp, a short distance downstream from the others. There were berry bushes there. We were picking berries happily, and singing the picking song our children sometimes sing. You know that song.

This berry is large, I’ll put it in my basket.

This berry is small, I’ll put it in my mouth.

That day, as I remember, we had probably put more berries into our mouths than into our baskets. Our faces and fingers were as red as blood from the juice of fat ripe berries. Even though in our song we said the berries were small, I remember that they were very fat. All the berries were fat when I was young.

I had eleven winters. I had a husband already. I did not live with him. I was still in the lodge of my parents. But I had been promised to a man by my father. That man, my husband-to-be, had already made a gift of horses to my family. In less than a handful of winters, I would have gone to him. But then I would never have met your father. I would never have taken my first long journey. I would never have become the Woman Who Was Lost. You, my tall boy, would never have been here in the house of your good uncle.

How did we know there was trouble? My best friend, Wren, was the first to hear the cry.

Enemies! Many enemies!

Perhaps it was my older brother, Stays Here, who shouted the alarm. He was always the most alert of the young men, and it was said even then that he would surely become a chief. But by the time I saw him and my people again, even he could not remember who first saw the attack coming.

The first sound of guns came right after that shout. I stood there, unable to move. Wren tugged my hand. Then she tugged it harder.

Boat Pusher, she shouted, we must flee.

Then she was off, running away from the sounds of shouting and gunfire and the pounding of horses’ hooves. I looked back toward our village. People were scattering in all directions like a flock of ducks before a diving hawk. They were too far away for me to join them.

I followed Wren as best I could. But her legs were longer than mine and I could not keep up with her. As fast as we ran, though, it was no use. The enemies had attacked from more than one direction. There, right in front of us, were more enemies on horseback We were running right toward them.

That was when Wren received her new name. She turned and ran across the stream. With her long legs she leaped and bounded and was across almost as quickly as a slopping stone or a jumping fish. And as I would learn later, that became her name for the rest of her life, Jumping Fish.

I tried to follow. I remember the water splashing around my feet as I struggled toward the other side. I remember slipping on the stones and the sound of my own breath as I half ran and half swam through that cold water. If I could reach the other bank, which was steep and sandy, I might be able to scurry up it as my friend had just done. The horses’ hooves would sink in the sandbank and slow them down.

But the sound of the closest rider’s horse was right behind me, its breath chuffing. I could hear the thump of the rider’s heels on the sides of his horse.

"Hey-yah!" the rider shouted, urging his horse on. Then he shouted something else in an enemy language that I could not speak. Whatever it was, his voice was too close.

I turned then. I knew I could not escape and I did not want to be caught from behind. What else could I do? I was a girl with no weapons. I stood there in the middle of the stream with my head raised.

The rider stopped just short of riding me down. I knew what he was probably thinking—Good, now I will not have to hurt this one to catch her. She will be valuable as a captive. She will be one who can help my mothers and sisters with their work. Maybe I will even be able to sell her for a good price.

I recognized by his clothing that he was a Minnetaree, and by the way his face and his horse were painted. Hidatsa, they call themselves. Then he smiled.

I spat into the water between us. I looked hard at him, wishing I could kill him with my eyes. But my eyes were neither a lance nor a war bow. So I became a captive. So my long journey began.

2

William Clark:

The Corps of Discovery

We are to ascend the Missouri River with a boat as far as it is navigable and then to go by land, to the western ocean, if nothing prevents, & c.

This party consists of 25 picked Men of the armey & country and I am So happy as to be one of them pick’d Men. . . .

We are to Start in ten days up the Missouri River. . . . We expect to be gone 18 months or two years. We are to Receive a great Reward for this expedition, when we Return.

—LETTER OF SERGEANT JOHN ORDWAY

TO HIS PARENTS, DATED APRIL 8, 1804

WHERE WAS I WHEN YOUR MOTHER was taken captive?

Pomp, my lad, you ask questions like a Virginia lawyer. Are you sure you are only seven years old? Yes, I know you are. As sure as I know you can already speak English and French, Hidatsa and Shoshone. But you still want an answer, eh? Far away from the Three Forks, that is the easy answer.

Yes, I am certain Captain Lewis and I would have come to her aid had we been there. When those Hidatsa raided the Shoshone village, that would have been 1799. July, if the berries were ripe.

But the first time we met your mother was five years later. November of 1804, it was. At Fort Mandan, on the north bank of the Missouri River, just across from the lower Mandan village led by Big White and Little Raven.

Why were we there? I will tell you the tale, a bit of it at least, today. Maybe more tomorrow. It is the tale of the best group of men and the finest captain I have ever known, God rest my dear friend’s soul. It is the story of the Corps of Discovery, and your mother’s story, too. Her life was as much changed by our journey as our lives were changed, for the better, by knowing her.

For me it began when a letter written on June 19, 1803, came.

Who was it from? Right, indeed, lad. It was from Meriwether Lewis. Captain Lewis, by then. When I first met him, in 1795, he was an ensign on the Ohio frontier and under my command. A fine marksman, as were all my men. His last commanding officer had not much liked Ensign Lewis. Even back then Meri was, well, excitable. Never one to be patient with a fool, even if that fool outranked him.

But there was no trouble between us. Nor would there ever be. I admired his courage and his pride, the spirit that I thought then could never be broken. He served only six months in my Chosen Rifle Company, but in that time the two of us became as close friends as any two can ever be. When we parted company he clasped my hand with just as much warmth as I did his.

Billy, he said, one day we two shall do great things together.

Now, if another man said that, you might have laughed. But not when it was said by Meriwether Lewis. So I just nodded back to him, not knowing how true those words of his would prove to be. Then, almost eight years later, that letter arrived. It asked me to take part with him in an adventure. These words I know by heart:

My plan, Captain Lewis wrote, is to descend the Ohio River in a keeled boat, thence up the mouth of the Mississippi to the mouth of the Missouri, and up that river . . . to its source, and if practicable pass over to the waters of the Columbia or Oregon River and by descending it reach the Western Ocean.

That plan, of course, came from Thomas Jefferson. Everyone knew that our new president longed to have the western part of the continent explored. Captain Lewis had been taken on as the personal secretary to Jefferson several years before, so that Meri could be trained to lead just such an undertaking. Jefferson also had an abiding curiosity about all things scientific and human. So we were to make maps, observe latitude and longitude, and collect specimens and information wherever we went. Making contact with the various Indian nations, both to know them and to civilize them, was to be one of our primary objectives, as was the arranging of peace treaties among Indian nations.

Think of that, the boldness of it. We would cross the continent and be the first Americans to do it.

Reviews for Sacajawea

[vhartpowers · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Each chapter alternates in the viewpoint of Capt. Clark and Sacajawea as the story of their journey being told to Sacajawea's Firstborn Son (as she refers to him) and Pomp as Clark refers to him. Though Pomp never has a first person voice, his questions are brought up and answered by Clark or Sacajawea.
I don't particularly care for alternating viewpoint chapters, but I got used to it as the author gives more information of the journey to capture the reader. Of course it's not as detailed as the field notes/journals kept by the men, but even so by the time they made it to "the Great Water That Tastes Bad" I felt for this group having to go all the way back home.
Some of the tribes were helpful, others were greedy and some were thieves.
It boggles the mind to think this teenage new mother made this journey without complaint and was even a great help. I can't imagine any modern teenager doing this and even doubtful most adults could do it. (myself included)
The book recommends the age of 12 and up, but it would have been appropriate for my child at fourth grade.